


Ain't It Funny

by orphan_account



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Endgame Zimbits, Fluff, Get Together, Grad Student Bitty, Grief, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, One Night Stands, Slow Burn, Trans Kent, basically the NHL we all want, but don't have, chubby jack, mentions of drunk sex, mentions of omc death, nhl jack, single dad bitty, unrealistic portrayal of the NHL
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-14
Updated: 2017-03-15
Packaged: 2018-10-05 02:56:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 19,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10295858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: The decision was reckless, born out of grief and loss, and he never expected it to blow up in his face.  At least not in the form of a premature baby bearing his small nose and brown eyes.  Facing a decision he never thought he'd have to make, Eric feels more alone than ever.  Until his lawyer, Shitty Knight, introduces him to a group of hockey players who have no problem welcoming both Eric and his new baby, into their strange but loving little family.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Generally round this time of year I get sad and need to process my feelings. And fic definitely helps with that. Some of these events are blatantly self-insert, some of them are not (obviously, I was never adopted as family by a bunch of NHL players which is truly a shame). I've taken some liberties with the portrayal of child services (I tried to be accurate with some research but I know it's not perfect), and obviously some huge social liberties with the NHL--but then again in this fandom, don't we all?
> 
> Anyway this is basically me just venting some grief feelings. There are fairly raw descriptions of mourning over losing a partner in here so take caution if that's triggering for you. The fic starts out after the death, so there's no actual character death in here. The character death is an original character, not any of the main ships. Fic does contain past mentions of Bitty having drunk sex with a woman, not described in any detail.
> 
> The relationship between Jack and Bitty is slow, and will mostly take place in chapter two. About 90% of this fic is done, so chapter two should be up in a few days. See end notes for updates on my other fic.

"But if dreams came true  
And they definitely do  
For sayin I'm a fool  
Ain't it funny how the story goes  
Ain't it funny how the story goes"  
~REO Speedwagon

*** 

Stumbling out of his bed, Eric Bittle slipped on the wood floor having forgotten to take his socks off before collapsing face-first in bed. His only thoughts at the present time were, ‘what time is it?’ and, ‘will a jury sympathise with me if I murder a person for knocking on my door at six in the darn morning.’

He made it to his living room, past the couch after clipping his thigh on his tattered armchair, and finally to the door where he flung it open and tried for his best glower. It failed a bit, considering his hair was stuck up in several directions, he still had a smear of glitter under his left eye, and his shirt was half rucked-up on his right side. But he still put one curled fist on his hip and gave the younger man a scowl.

“Can I help you?”

“Mr Eric Bittle?”

The tone was formal. Formal enough to make Eric nervous, and he shuffled his feet, his glower dropping slightly. “Um. Yes?”

Suddenly there was a yellow packet in front of his face, and a clipboard. “Sign this, please.” Then he launched into some sort of speech Eric only half processed because apparently he was being served by someone for something. It was all legalese and confusing and a little terrifying.

A moment later he had his hands full of papers, and an empty hallway, and a swimming head.

Backing up, Eric kicked his door shut and walked until the backs of his knees touched his armchair. He sank down, his fingers shaking a little bit as he opened the envelope. A small stack of papers were in there, in English, but his shock made it difficult to understand. Something about a test…he needed to…take a test for…

He stared at a line, regarding a child. And genetic testing.

It was an order for a DNA test.

*** 

After his all-out panic, Eric’s neighbour gave him the best advice in the world. “Bro, you need to call a lawyer.”

Without any money or any means to afford a lawyer, Eric spent nearly three hours online looking up advocates for family law. His neighbour was able to suss out the meat of the papers, and it was, in fact, a subpoena for a DNA test regarding a child who was soon to be put up for adoption. Little was mentioned about the baby, or the mother. The thought would have been laughable, if Eric’s life hadn’t derailed exactly seven months prior when Ben—the love of his life, the only boyfriend he’d ever had up to this point—hadn’t died.

Eric knew it was a possibility. Ben was ill, his illness one day which would lead to his death, but it had been…unexpected, in a way. He’d been fine. And six days later, he was dead. Six days later Eric strolled into the hospital to be informed by a nurse that thirty minutes before Eric arrived, Ben had flatlined and he didn’t come back this time.

It was all a blur after that, his life. His head. He’d spent a week inside, then his friends dragged him out to try and get him to feel better. Eric was angry, and sad, his insides shredded and his head not quite there. He got drunk and fucked round, and one of those nights happened to be an overly enthusiastic woman who waxed poetic with Eric at the bar over Beyonce for nearly an hour.

That had led to drunk kissing, and eventually drunk fucking in the back of her jeep.

He hadn’t seen her again.

It hadn’t been the most memorable moment of his life, apart from the fact that it was his one—and probably only time—he’d ever slept with a woman. He didn’t expect to hear from her again.

He certainly hadn’t expected a child to come out of it.

He hadn’t known her name, though, and maybe this wasn’t her. Maybe this was some sort of mix-up. Maybe there was another Eric Bittle in Boston who was sitting round with no idea he’d fathered a child. Because from what Eric recalled from his piss-poor Georgia Sex Ed, babies took nine months to grow.

And Ben’s death and Eric’s reckless nights had happened seven months before.

Either way, he managed to find a lawyer’s office who offered free consults by a man called B. Knight. He’d been practising law now for only two years, but on their website it claimed that some of the lawyers in the office would take cases pro-bono, on a case-by-case basis.

It was worth a shot, since Eric couldn’t exactly tell his parents—who already avoided him for the whole gay thing—that he’d been reckless enough to also sleep with a stranger, unprotected, and apparently—may have—gotten her pregnant. And apparently—maybe—he was a dad now.

The thought made him sick. He spent five minutes heaving what little he’d been able to choke down, straight into the toilet. But he took a sleeping pill the night before his meeting with B. Knight, and managed to get some fitful rest.

In the morning, he dressed in his best cardigan, used a little concealer on the bags under his eyes, and showed up at the office ten minutes early.

*** 

“Fuck me,” B. Knight said with a low whistle. He was the strangest looking lawyer Eric had ever seen. He was tall and very thin, a heavy stache under his nose, and long hair twisted into a messy bun at the back of his head. He wore a funky, plaid suit like you’d see history professors wearing in bad 80s movies, and he had torn converse on, one of which was kicked up on the side of his desk as he leant back in the chair reading over the file. He grinned at Eric, but it was more of a sad grin than reassuring. “Sorry bruh. But…you’re fucking fucked.”

Eric blinked. “What like…like I’m going to have no choice or…”

“Well no,” B. Knight said. “That’s not what I’m saying. It’s just…”

“Mr Knight…”

“Please call me Sh—uh.” He stopped. “Or B. Just call me B. The other one’s kind of offensive. Uh.”

Eric blinked. “The other one?”

“I’m kind of new at this. Being professional.” He dragged a hand down his face. “All my friends call me Shitty.” When Eric blinked, he laughed, “I swear it’s not a reflection on my law-practising skills. It’s an old hockey nickname.”

That was startling. Eric had played no-contact, co-ed hockey when they moved to Madison since they didn’t have figure skating available, and he was in no position to judge the way anyone looked but…he didn’t seem the hockey sort. “Sh—Shitty’s fine,” Eric managed. “If that’s…okay with you?”

“Way more comfortable than that whole Mr Knight business,” Shitty replied. “In professional company you can call me B.”

Eric nodded, then folded his hands on the edge of Shitty’s desk. “I don’t know how this happened. I mean…I mean I do. I do know. I got drunk and I was stupid and I didn’t use a condom. I wasn’t infected with anything but apparently uh. It wasn’t consequence free. I…I think.”

Shitty stared at the papers. “I’m gonna take your case.”

“I don’t have money,” Eric said, though he’d said that before he’d sat down. “Like…none. And I know this isn’t some case where you can get money if we win and…”

“Little dude,” Shitty said, staring at Eric with warm, soft eyes, “I don’t care. I have money. My family’s a bunch of rich, white, racist shitbags and it’s not going to break me if I do some shit for you pro-bono. Okay? This situation is pretty fucked and fuck me if I don’t at least try to give back. Besides, I like you.”

Eric flushed. He’d been in Boston for a while, trying desperately to make it through grad school, and it was nicer than Georgia, but he still tended to rub people the wrong way. He was too bright and too enthusiastic and a little too flighty when his ADD was getting bad. So hearing that from a guy like Shitty…

“Thanks,” he mumbled.

Shitty sighed. “Bro listen, this isn’t…this isn’t a punishment, okay? Like…you’re allowed to be young and reckless sometimes. And yeah sometimes shit comes with consequences, but you didn’t do anything wrong.”

Eric gulped round a lump in his throat. “I was just…hurting. Ben dying like that…” He had to stop, because most days even saying the name Ben got him choked up and feeling like his heart was made of razor blades, trying to claw straight out of his chest. “I didn’t expect…” He stopped again and let out a tense laugh. “I always figured if I wanted a biological child, it was going to take a lot more effort on my part than getting drunk in a club with some friends.”

Shitty’s smile was softer. “I’m going to do some research, talk to the case worker, find out where the kid is, when it was born, all the deets. I’ll call you right after, okay? You got thirty days to respond to the subpoena, but we’ll know more way before that time.”

Eric nodded, and stood when Shitty did. He held out his hand, but Shitty spread his arms open instead.

“Bring it in, little dude.”

Eric flushed, but a hug sounded really nice right then, and he allowed the lawyer to tug him in and wrap his arms round him, and squeeze tight. Eric let out a shaking breath, and was proud of himself for not crying. This might not have been the worst situation in the world—he doubted anything would top losing his partner but…it was a close second. He didn’t know what the hell he was going to do if the kid really came back his. He hadn’t ever thought about having kids, not really. And especially not right now. He was only a year into his master’s and he was just not…not ready.

“Thanks,” he breathed.

Shitty ruffled his hair. “See you soon, Eric.”

When the door shut, and Eric left the office, he slid into the shadows of the alley nearby, and let himself cry.

*** 

Clutching a cup of tea between his hands, Eric focused on the hot ceramic rather than the thrumming of his heart. His entire body was poised, tense, waiting to hear the buzzer letting him know that B Shitty Knight had arrived to take him to meet his…what might be his…child.

Or something.

Eric was still only allowing him to think of the baby in an abstract sense. He was twenty four, and a student, and gay, and he wasn’t exactly sure where parenting might fit in during all of that. Granted, his parents had him at a fairly young age. His mother had just turned twenty three when he was born, and it was right for them. But for him…

He felt still just this side of disaster. He had endless student loans, and a part time job, and still only a vague idea of what he wanted to do when he grew up. Hell, he still thought of his future in terms of, ‘when I grow up’ which was hardly a screaming endorsement of himself as a parent.

So.

He jumped, even though he was primed to hear the buzzer, and he scrambled to his feet. He made it to the door, quelling the shaking in his fingertips just barely. He offered what was probably the world’s most tense smile as he stepped aside.

“Sorry bout the mess,” he muttered.

His place wasn’t a mess per-se, but the kitchen still had a light dusting of flour from all the stress baking, and there were three pies, a dozen cookies, and a cake perched at the end of the counter.

Shitty laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. “Bro, I literally spent my formative college years in a frat haus. Like…sriracha in the cabinets, and nothing but beer in the fridge, and the idea of broom a suggestion. So this…is fine.”

Eric’s smile was a little more genuine this time. “So um…” He gestured toward the sofa, and Shitty took a seat. He was dressed less like a lawyer and more like a tired college student handing out flyers for environmental meetings—his flannel open to reveal a white t-shirt, and his jeans faded, without holes, but frayed where they sat above his sandaled heels.

He had a small folder with him, and he laid it on the coffee table without opening it. “I’ve got all the information. The baby was born at twenty-seven weeks, weighing three pounds, which the woman I spoke to said was fairly large for being born that early.”

“Early,” Eric echoed. His claim that the baby couldn’t be his because it had only been seven months was slipping through his fingers.

Shitty nodded. “The baby’s still in the NICU—newborn ICU,” he clarified. “There are no apparent health issues. The mother left the hospital AMA—against medical advice—about three hours after delivery. The baby was declared abandoned, and that’s when DCS became involved. They were able to track her down, and she was later admitted to a rehabilitation facility.”

“For what?” Eric asked, his voice sounding like an echo in his head—strange and far-off.

“Various drugs. I’m not sure about the impact on the baby, that’s something we can go over later.” Shitty paused, letting Eric absorb. “There’s a mandatory thirty day wait, which is coming up, and then the baby will become a ward of the state, and put up for official adoption. The mother claimed…”

“Is she listed on there?” Eric interrupted. “Like…her name? Who the hell she is?”

Shitty nodded. “We can go over all that later.”

Eric swallowed thickly. “It…okay. How erm…did they find me? If she didn’t know who I am?”

Shitty shrugged. “I was informed by the case worker that the mother didn’t know who you were, but mentioned something about a YouTube baking channel…”

Eric groaned, dropping his face against the sofa cushion. “Oh,” he said weakly.

Shitty lifted a brow. “So that’s a thing?”

Eric nodded. “We may have talked about it. I don’t remember. I was so drunk. I was so…” He breathed. “So what…what do I do?”

“Well we have clearance from the case worker if you want to go meet the baby after the DNA swab.”

Eric felt like his throat was closing up, and he forced himself to take several breaths. “Jesus. Okay. What if…I don’t want the kid? What if I don’t…you know. Like am I going to…can I get in trouble for…”

“Yo, Eric hey,” Shitty said, reaching out. He’d clearly heard the panic in Eric’s voice, and he gripped his knee. “Look, you can’t get in trouble for any of this. You’re not obligated to do anything. There are so many parents on waiting lists for babies. This kid will not go without a home.”

Eric blinked over at Shitty. “Oh. Okay. Um.” He licked his lips. “When should I…”

“Now,” Shitty said calmly. “Now would be good. I got you an appointment, and we can get the swab done. It won’t take long for the results, and then we can go from there.”

“How long will I have to decide.”

“Thirty days,” Shitty said. “From the date of service, thirty days.”

Thirty days, it could be an eternity in some cases, but in this case it felt like no time at all. At least not enough for Eric to decide whether or not he wanted to change his entire life and become a parent. It was unfair. It was awful and unfair. He couldn’t blame the mother for running, not when he, himself, felt like doing the same.

But there was a tiny part of him who wanted to see the baby. A part of him that wanted to see what he’d created, and…

And a tiny part of him that kind of wanted this.

He wasn’t sure how fair it was to anyone—to himself, to the baby, to potential parents.

“Are there already parents lined up?” Eric asked. Maybe if some parents thought that they were getting a baby, the choice might be easier. Eric didn’t want to force anyone to go through disappointment like that.

“No,” Shitty said, and Eric deflated. “Not yet.”

Eric blew out a short breath. “Okay. Let’s…we should go. Let’s go.” He stood up on shaking legs, grabbed his things, and followed Shitty out the door.

*** 

The swab was far less terrifying than Eric imagined it might be. It was rough on the inside of his mouth, and uncomfortable, but it was over in what felt like seconds, and suddenly his results were off and there was no turning back.

Whatever happened—whatever he chose, in a few short days he’d find out whether or not he contributed DNA to a child now living in the world.

A child who was still in hospital—too young, and too small to survive on its own. Eric didn’t even know if it was a boy or a girl, if it looked…if it looked like him. Or if it looked like the woman he could barely remember.

“I’ll come by after we get the results in. We’ll go from there.”

Eric nodded, and fought off the urge to sleep for the next seventy-two hours.

*** 

Instead of sleeping, he worked, he researched—though he retained next to nothing. He went to most of his lectures, and he watched his phone like a hawk.

Instead of a call, he got a text. **Yo, Eric. I’ll be by at four.**

Eric was sick twice, but managed to compose himself before Shitty arrived with the results in an envelope which was already open. Luckily for Eric, he didn’t draw it out. He sat on the sofa and passed over what looked like a demographics sheet displaying numbers and things Eric couldn’t begin to process.

“Ninety-eight point three percent, Eric.”

“That’s um…that means…”

“You fathered this child.”

Eric blinked at him. “Not a hundred percent.”

Shitty shook his head. “No. It never is.”

“So what if another man comes along and gets tested and it comes out ninety-nine point one?”

Shitty laughed. “If you have a twin, and your twin slept with this woman, then sure. Maybe.”

Eric swallowed against the lump in his throat. “So uh. So I’m…”

“Do you want to see her?”

Eric blinked against heat in his eyes. “Should I? I mean, it makes sense, right? That I should…because it’s my kid and I…it’s…” He started breathing too fast and too heavy and his hands were shaking.

Shitty took them between his own and squeezed. “Hospital. Then a beer after. Tomorrow we’ll have a meeting and talk to the baby’s case worker and you have time to decide. Remember that, okay. I’ll handle the rest, you just need to decide.”

Eric sniffled, but let Shitty draw him up, and out the door, and into the car.

*** 

The rest of the ride was surreal. Eric was in and out of his head, and only half paid attention to where they were going. They met the caseworker on the floor of the NICU—she was a woman called Sandy who had a wide, friendly smile—something Eric wasn’t exactly expecting from a DCS worker. She gave a run-down of the baby’s condition, and the rules of course.

“She’s under an oxygen hood so she can’t be picked up, but after you scrub in, you can touch her and hold her hand. She’s gained a lot of weight this week so she should be ready for release in a few weeks as long as her vitals hold.”

It was a lot of medical stuff Eric barely understood, but he tried to keep a firm grasp. Shitty elected not to go in, but Sandy went with him and stood quietly as the nurse taught him how to scrub right, and get everything clean.

The inside of the NICU was…strange. Nothing like it was portrayed in the films or tv shows. There were small, plastic cots interspersed throughout the room, almost all of the babies lying mostly naked, and under warm lamps. A few were under plastic domes, and most of them had at least one tube attached, if not several. Off to the right was a wall of babies lit up with what looked like black lights. Eric wanted to ask, but he was directed to a small cot off to the corner where a baby barely larger than his own hand was laying.

The baby’s skin was reddish pink, and her hands were curled into tiny fists. Her head was resting under a large, plastic dome, and though he couldn’t hear it, her mouth was open in a grimace.

“Ah, she’s lost her dummy,” the nurse said. She walked over, slipping her hand and pushing the little, round blue thing back into the baby’s mouth. She sucked angrily on it, fists clenching and unclenching. “She’s a hungry one,” the nurse said. “She can’t eat properly yet. She’s still on her feeding tube.”

Eric saw the small, yellow tube which was inside one of the nostrils, and he winced. All of it looked…horrifying. Like the idea of a small infant who had no control, no idea why everything felt so…terrible. Had anyone held her? Was she comforted?

His heart was twisting in his chest, and the thought of adoptions and abandonment and drunken one-offs in the back of rusted jeeps were all-but forgotten. He approached the cot, pushing past the nurse, and he gently brushed the back of the baby’s hand with his finger.

Her skin was soft, but dry, almost papery to the touch. She was too small. He’d seen babies before—he had a huge family, so many cousins, so many fat, pink babies plopped in his lap with round eyes and puckered mouths. This was not that. This was…this child was not that at all.

Her birth had been as traumatic as the pain Eric had felt when he’d met her mother in that club. She represented all that. And yet…

He didn’t feel pain when he looked at her. He stared down at the thatch of hair—a sort of strawberry blonde. Her eyes were grey, her nose upturned like his own. “She kinda looks like me,” he muttered.

Not a lot but…some. 

He pushed against her curled fingers, and they opened, then closed round the tip of his index finger. She squeezed and made a crying face, then sucked harder on the dummy. He let out a shaking breath. “Can I take a picture of her?”

“It can’t go on social media,” Sandy warned.

Eric glanced back, shaking his head. “No. No I…just for um. My momma. She’s…I haven’t talked to her but I feel like maybe I should um…”

“Making sure you have a support system when making a decision like this is never a bad idea,” Sandy told him. “That’s perfectly fine, as long as she understands what she can and cannot do.”

“Yeah. I. She’ll understand.” Eric was lying. Or well, maybe he was lying, because he hadn’t really talked to his momma in months and he wasn’t sure how the hell she and Coach were going to take it. But Sandy wasn’t lying. If Eric chose this, it would mean moving home again. It would mean putting his degree on hold and going back to that place he wasn’t allowed to be anything like himself.

It would mean church again, and judgmental stares, because he’d been outed online and his parents had found out so Madison had as well.

He’d be the queer kid with a baby and he wasn’t even sure how the hell they were going to take that. But he couldn’t bring himself to turn around and say no now. Maybe if his momma rejected him. Maybe if Coach told him he was on his own and they’d have no part in this. Eric wasn’t sure he could do that to his…

To his daughter.

He forced himself to say the word in his head.

His fingers shook as he took the photo, and he saved it. He wasn’t ready to send it just yet. For now he wanted another few minutes of quiet.

He got twenty, before it was time to get her vitals and change her IV which they had to leave for. “We can call you if anything comes up,” the nurse offered.

Sandy was the point of contact, and promised to keep Eric in the loop about everything. “I’m sure Mr Knight and I will be talking before long,” Sandy said, shaking everyone’s hand.

Shitty nodded, then loped his arm round Eric’s shoulders. “And now I think we need sandwiches and beer. Sandwiches and beer?”

Eric looked at him for a long moment, then nodded. “Sandwiches and beer.”

*** 

Shitty chose a place not far, in Providence. Eric hadn’t been there a lot—a few times for special deliveries, but the traffic was shit and he tried to avoid it when he could. Shitty went in to a small sports bar he insisted had the world’s best lobster rolls, and Eric asked for a minute.

When he was alone, his thumb hovered over the call button. Once upon a time he’d be calling Benny about this. He’d be sob-laughing into the receiver and asking how the hell he got himself into this mess.

“Who the fuck knows. Only you, Bits,” he’d say. He’d have a kiss for Eric later, and probably ice cream, and about twenty solutions. And Eric would feel warm and wanted and loved.

He’d been without that for going on eight months now, and he had to remind himself—like reopening the bleeding wound—he wouldn’t have that again. Maybe someone else, if he could find it in him to repair his heart so it didn’t feel like razor blades of betrayal cutting him over and over at the very thought of kissing someone else. But right now, he was alone.

The most alone he’d ever been.

He hit the button on his mother’s number and waited.

It rang so long he thought it was going to end up at her voicemail. “Come on, mama. I need you.”

“Baby?”

He hadn’t realised she’d picked up. “Hey,” he said. And then he promptly burst into tears.

A half hour later, the story was out, and Suzanne Bittle was both crying and begging to see photos. Eric texted them to her, then called her back five minutes later and let her cry a little more.

“Oh sweetheart, we’ll come up. Your daddy and I…”

“Momma wait,” Eric said, clearing his throat. “I don’t know…I don’t know if I can do this. It’s so much.”

“I know,” Suzanne said, then took a deep breath. “It’s your decision, sweetheart. But if you want it, we’ll be there. In a moment. Anything you need.”

Eric swallowed thickly. “Don’t tell daddy yet, okay? Lemme work this out. I got a lawyer and everything, momma. I’m not alone. I can do this.”

“I trust you,” she said.

Eric sniffled. “Thanks. I…I love you. I’ll call you as soon as I know somethin’.” When he rang off, he realised his decision was all-but made, and that was the most terrifying thing he could possibly feel right then.

He headed inside, stopping in the doorway to look round for the lawyer who had started to feel like a friend. The place was near empty, aside from a table of rather large men, most of them wearing matching blue hats which Eric had to assume had something to do with a sport team. Maybe there was a game—he was painfully ignorant about most things sports apart from Georgia Football, which he tried to ignore, but found it difficult to erase. Eric took a few more steps in, then heard his name being called.

“Yo! Eric.” Shitty happened to be lounging near the table of sport dudes, but he detached himself and hurried over. “Hey, that took a while. Everything okay?”

Eric scrubbed a hand down his face. “I…think so? I need…I’m going to grab a drink and take a second, if that’s alright?”

Shitty dropped a hand to his shoulder and squeezed. “Of course, brah. Look, couple of my friends are here,” he nodded to the table. “I’ll be there and join us if you want. When you’re ready. I swear to fuck they’re the nicest guys you’ll ever meet.”

Eric raised a brow. He didn’t exactly have the best history with dudes into sports, but he also trusted Shitty wouldn’t lead him to a table full of homophobes. And he had to admit they were sat polite and quiet, if not a little chirpy, but Eric hadn’t heard anything offensive shouted out yet so…

“Okay. Thanks.”

Shitty squeezed his arm, then yelled to the bartender, “Whatever he gets is on my tab!”

Eric opened his mouth to protest, then realised, fuck it, I’m about to be a dad—maybe. Probably. Which meant saving his pennies. Every single one. Because he was going to need…shit. He was going to need _everything._

He felt like throwing up, but instead he slid up to the bar and ordered a vodka tonic and when it dropped in front of him, he took a long breath, then a long drink. It burned on the way down but in a good way, and the warmth spread through his limbs. His breath was shaking, but he was feeling slightly better.

He pulled out his phone and tapped a text out to his mother.

**I don’t know how to raise a baby, momma.**

_No one really does, sweetheart. You learn by doing, and I’ll be there if you really want this._

**Momma you know…**

He took a breath and typed again.

**You know this doesn’t change anything, right? I am who I am. I’m not…what I did with that woman was a mistake. I ain’t…gonna be different.**

_I know. I don’t…understand it, but I love you._

**Coach, though.**

_He’ll come around, Dicky. I swear. He might not…agree, but you say the words PopPop to him and he’ll be wrapped round that little girl’s finger faster’n’a cheetah on roller skates._

Eric stared at his phone, a slight smile on his lips. He sighed, took another long drink, then pulled up his gallery. The baby was there. Nameless, and small, and still fighting for his life. But she was also his. Maybe not in name yet, maybe not legally. But he’d helped make her and if he really was going to go through with this…

“Two greyhounds,” came a voice to Eric’s right.

His head whipped to the side, and he saw a shorter man with thick blonde hair, a smattering of freckles, and broad shoulders. His eyes were the strangest mix of blue, green, and grey, and his jaw line was square and sharp, his lips set in a half smirk. He raised his brows at Eric, waggling them a little.

“Alright, man?”

Eric dragged a hand down his face. “You ain’t wearin’ matching hats with your friends.”

The guy lifted a hand to his hair. His fingers were surprisingly long, slender except at the knuckles, nails bitten short. He ruffled his cowlicks and the left side of his smirk hitched a little higher. “Yeah well, not my team. You like hockey?”

Eric snorted. “Uh. I played back in high school, but I don’t actually know anything about it? My family was more…”

“Football?” the guy guessed. When Eric blinked in mild surprise he said, “Accent gives you away.” Two drinks, a muddy pink over ice in short glasses, slid in front of the guy. “I’m Kent, by the way.”

Eric held out a hand. “Eric. I’m here with Shitty. Well, supposed to be, but I uh. It’s been a long day and I need a drink before I can be social.”

“You want me to fuck off?” Kent asked.

Eric shrugged. “Don’t you have someone waitin’ on that drink?”

Kent snorted a laugh. “Trust me, he can wait.” He sipped on his own, leaning his elbow on the counter top. “Kinda nice talking to someone who doesn’t know me.”

Eric blinked. “Are you famous? Should I be asking for a selfie?”

Kent outright laughed. “Most people don’t want a selfie. They want to like…pray for my soul or some stupid shit. If you want one though…”

“Maybe later,” Eric said, but not unkindly. “You really don’t have to sit with me. I’m the worst company right now.”

“I’m the worst company always. At least that’s what my uh…” He stopped and sized Eric up. “You’re friends with Shitty?”

It was the strangest segue into any conversation, but Eric shrugged and nodded all the same. “Or I guess more like he’s my lawyer who took pity on a poor gay kid who got himself into a really fucking stupid conversation.” Then he froze, and cursed the vodka for loosening his tongue because Eric didn’t just out himself to sport guys in random bars like…ever. His spine went rigid and he glanced round for a quick exit.

The guy, though, didn’t bat an eyelash. “Yeah, he does that.”

Eric breathed a little. “A lot?”

“Nah, only the good ones,” Kent said, and winked. “The really good ones. He’s pretty picky. He adopted Jack pretty quick.” Kent nodded over, at the table. “The gorgeous one with the black hair and blue eyes.”

Eric looked over and realised Jack was impossible to miss. Not the tallest of the group, but he stood out. His hair was incredibly thick and lush, styled a little messy, like late 90s boyband. His eyes were large, and blue, and almost sad. He was very broad, wide shoulders, heavy chest, wide tum. His hands were curled round what Eric assumed was a glass of water, and he was nodding along to something Shitty was saying.

“He’s difficult to get along with most days,” Kent said, “but he’s a lovable little shit and Shitty knew that right away. So I guess you’re good people, Eric.”

Eric felt something bleed out of him, tension and fear, and he took the last of his drink before holding up his finger for another. “Well…I try. I mean, I’m kinda stupid I guess but…”

“You wanna talk about it?” Kent asked. “I mean, since I’m like…an objective third party, and only a little biased since you seem pretty cool.”

Eric giggled. “It’s a messed up story, Kent. I’m not sure you wanna hear it.”

“I’m willing to bet I can top whatever you got. Believe me. Let me just drop this to my boyfriend before he threatens to kill me.” Kent pushed away from the bar and winked. “Never come between a Russian man and his vodka.”

Eric didn’t take it lightly, the way Kent had also just come out to him. And he watched to make sure the guy wasn’t lying because Eric had been taken off guard before by shitty straights. But Kent walked over, dropped the mostly full greyhound in front of the tallest guy with shaggy, loose brown curls, kissed him under the ear, then murmured to him.

The tall guy looked over at Eric, offered a sunny smile, then kissed Kent’s cheek before shooing him away. Shitty gave Eric a thumbs up, and then Jack looked up. His gaze intense, piercing, studying Eric with an intensity that made him shiver all over.

If the situation was different, Eric might have given in and walked over. But right now, it was difficult to think beyond infant, and the mother in rehab, and Ben cold in the ground instead of holding his hand through this mess.

He didn’t really want to consider how he wouldn’t have been in it, if Ben hadn’t died. Or if he’d been stronger.

He swallowed against the lump in his throat, and let the vodka burn as Kent walked back over.

“So,” he said, sliding onto a barstool. “What do you…” Kent trailed off, taking in Eric’s face. “Aw shit. It’s a serious problem, isn’t it? I mean…like…do you need to cry? I’m pretty great at hugs if you like…need one.”

That sounded good, but Eric shook his head all the same, took a third drink, then clasped his hands on the bar. “My boyfriend died,” he said bluntly.

“Fuck me,” Kent replied.

The buzz from the vodka made Eric a little loopy and he laughed. “I mean yeah. Fuck me is right. It was…well it was near eight months ago. Like…expected but not expected. He was sick, but I thought he was gonna get better. But then he died instead.”

“Cancer?” Kent asked.

Eric shook his head. “Chronic disease. Uh, mostly in his lungs. He was waitin’ on a transplant but it never came.” Eric swiped a hand over his mouth. “I was real fuckin’ sad so my friends thought clubbing would be a good idea because they’re the worst.”

Kent snorted. “Uh. Yeah.”

“But I went and got wasted and met a girl—and I ain’t never been with a girl, but she was real nice and she was listening to me and she liked Beyonce so I thought why not. I fucked her in her Jeep.”

Kent threw his head back and laughed. “Shit, sunshine. That’s…uh…”

“Impressive for a little gay southern boy like me?” Eric asked, because that’s what Charlie had said the next day when Eric fessed up.

“Well it’s something,” Kent replied.

“It gets better.” Eric took a drink, and felt really lightheaded, and pushed the glass away. “She got pregnant. I didn’t even know her name. But like a few weeks ago this guy just like…shows up at my door and he’s like congrats you might have a kid. Take this DNA test and be a dad!” Eric slapped his hand on the bar top and shook his head. “So uh. Shitty helped…is helping…helping me.”

Kent was staring at him hard. “You…got a kid now or…?”

“She’s mine,” Eric said, and swiped his phone open to show the picture of her. “She doesn’t even have a name. What’s a good name, Kent?”

Kent stared. “I have a pretty hate-hate relationship with girl names,” he admitted. Then he bit his lip and shrugged. “If I had a daughter…I dunno. It would probably end up some Russian name because Alexei is dead set on that.”

Eric grinned. “You two would make cute dads. I think. I don’t even know you but yea.”

Kent flushed. “Thanks. You never gave it any thought? Having kids?”

Eric shrugged. “Always seemed abstract.” He sighed. “I had a bunny when I was a little boy. Her name was Melanie.”

Kent’s eyes widened. “Who the fuck names a pet bunny Melanie?”

Eric laughed. “Well me, for starters. It’s a sensible name, okay?”

Kent laughed hard, shaking his head. “Holy shit, yeah. But uh…you totally can’t name your daughter after a pet rabbit, Eric.”

Eric scowled. “What do you know?”

“Well not a fucking thing about naming a kid, but that dude right there?” He pointed to the tall guy with dark brown skin and a wide grin who was trying to pretend like he wasn’t watching them. “He’s got a daughter. And another on the way. And the guy next to him…” Eric looked at the pale guy with salt and pepper brown hair. “He’s got two kids. So maybe ask them?”

“Yeah, alright.” Eric was drunk enough to let this happen. Kent’s hand slipped into his, and he and his drink were dragged over to the sport table and he was shoved into a seat between Alexei and Kent. “Alright you fuckers. This is Eric and he’s awesome and he has a really important question for you so listen the fuck up or I’m going to snow your goalie next game.”

Eric shook his head and rolled his eyes, but he grinned all the same, and felt even lighter when he saw the smile Shitty was giving him. “I uh. Met my daughter today.”

Shitty’s eyes snapped wide. “Eric…”

Eric shrugged. “Yeah. She’s in the NICU and stuff and I don’t um. Have a name and I have no idea what I’m doing and Kent apparently sucks at naming people…”

“He does,” Jack said. “Or well, at least at naming pets. His cat is called Kit Purrson.” Eric frowned in confusion until Jack said, “His name is Kent Parson.”

Eric’s eyes widened in mock horror, and he turned to Kent. “I almost let you help me!”

Kent laughed, clapping him on the shoulder. “Why the fuck do you think I brought you here. Anyway, everyone start coming up with names like…right now.”

Somehow in the confusion, Eric found himself passing round the photo of his daughter, and telling the story to a table full of strangers. And he wanted to blame the booze, but it was wearing off and he was still feeling weirdly warm and accepted. He was laughing at their jokes, and rejecting most of the names, and feeling Kent and Alexei sitting really close to him in a protective way Eric never felt with his other friends.

It was strange, and it was good, and he wasn’t sure what to make of it. But the approving look Shitty was giving him made him feel like maybe this decision wouldn’t be a total disaster. If his mother really would come help, if he could finish school and maybe get through all of this in one piece, maybe—just maybe—things weren’t as terrible as he feared.

By the time lunch was well over, the guys had to start filing out for their afternoon skate.

“We have a game tonight,” Jack reminded them.

Kent turned big eyes on Eric. “You should come. Aces are playing.”

“Who is…you, right?” Eric asked. He’d come into the somewhat shocking knowledge that he was sat with an NHL hockey team about ten minutes in—Kent being the only one not on the Providence team. “You’re the Aces.”

“Yes. Me,” Kent said. “I’m going to fuck these guys up, by myself.”

Alexei grabbed Kent by the waist. “Maybe he’s fucking something, but is not hockey game alone. He’s not winning tonight.”

Kent rolled his eyes. “Will you though? Like. Come see us? Shits? Tell my new best friend Eric that he has to.”

Shitty laughed. “Leave us a couple tickets and it’s a hard maybe.”

It was agreed, and Eric and Shitty watched as the team left. Eric didn’t miss Jack’s lingering eyes on him, in spite of Jack having said the least to him during the entire lunch. But it was nice. It was soft and it was safe and Eric was now sober and still determined to make this decision.

“Are you sure?” Shitty asked as he closed out his tab.

Eric swallowed thickly. “My momma said she’d come help. I don’t know for how long, or how much but…” Eric trailed off and shrugged. He glanced down at the table, at the list of names Marty had been writing down. One had been catching his eye. “When I get her…when it all…when it’s legal and everything. What um. What happens?”

“You become a dad,” Shitty said, shrugging. “You take her home, and you raise her, and you love her. I’ll take care of the rest. And Eric…?”

Eric glanced up, his eyes hot but dry. “Yeah?”

“I’m not going anywhere, if you don’t want me to. Me…the guys. We like you. You won’t be alone.”

Eric felt his throat go tight, so he just nodded. His hand touched the edge of the napkin. “Eloise is a nice name. Don’t you think?”

Shitty grinned at him. “Yeah. It’s real fuckin’ nice, Eric.”

He breathed. Eloise.

It definitely had a nice ring to it.

*** 

Eric went to the game. He told himself he wouldn’t. He told himself he needed time to sit and think in the quiet of his apartment. But he found himself with Shitty most of the day. They picked up Shitty’s partner, Lardo—a genderfluid artist who that night was using they pronouns… “But they change like the tide,” they said to Eric after giving him a long hug. “Shitty also told me everything, bro. Because he does that, I hope that’s cool.”

“That’s cool,” Eric said.

“You ever have a hockey name? He said you played,” Lardo asked.

Eric shrugged. “Bi…” He cleared his throat. “My last name is Bittle so everyone just called me Bitty. But it’s been a while.” 

It had been eight months almost exactly since anyone had called him that and he wasn’t sure he was ready until Lardo said, “Cool, Bits.”

Then it just…was.

The three of them sat really close to the ice, right behind the Falc’s bench, on the edge closest to the Aces side. Eric had full view of the guys, who looked way too excited to see them there. Alexei leant over the railings and beckoned Eric over, and thrust a small bag into his hands. “For little one.”

Eric went back to his seat and pulled out two of the smallest jerseys he’d ever seen. One in Falconer blue, the other in Aces black. He nearly cried, but didn’t bother.

The game was intense. It had been years since Eric had played, and it took him a while to remember the way it worked. But soon enough he was shouting and cheering. He was struck by Jack on the ice. Zimmermann, wearing a number one, who was also wearing the C and also one of the most amazing players Eric had ever seen.

He was fast, and fierce, and never missed a shot.

“He played with me at Samwell,” Shitty said. “Lards was team manager.”

Lardo snorted a laugh, pushing their hair back. “It was more like babysitting half the time. You fuckers were impossible. Jack was the only one I trusted to keep everything from falling apart.”

Shitty rolled his eyes, but kissed their cheek before grinning at Eric. “We always knew he’d do great things. Two of our other guys made it, actually. Holtzy’s on the Pens farm team but he’s been called up like four times this year with Letang’s injury. And Chowder just got signed by the Caps.”

Eric didn’t bother to ask who they were. He just smiled and nodded and tried not to think about how he was dragged into what was a rather large hockey family, and was about to take possession of an infant. That last bit was overwhelming enough, so he tucked the bag of tiny jerseys under his seat, and cheered the team on.

The Falcs one in regulation time by two. Kent looked furious, but blushed when Alexei winked at him. The teams filed out, and Shitty led them to the car park. “Normally we go out, but I got a feeling you need a long sleep.”

Eric shrugged. “I probably should, yeah.”

Shitty glanced at his phone. “Couple of the guys are asking for your number. That okay?”

“Uh.” Eric bit his lip. “Actually yeah, why not. Um. I’ll be at the hospital most of tomorrow, I think. If um. I’m allowed?”

“You’re allowed,” Shitty said very softly.

“So I might not answer but…it sounds nice.”

“You got friends here, Bits,” Lardo said, and slung their arm round Eric’s shoulder. “We can always tell who’s good people.”

Eric flushed, and he grinned.

*** 

“I’m terrified,” Eric admitted, his fingers shaking like autumn leaves as he eased himself into the squashy, ugly pink armchair the nurse had pulled up next to Eloise’s cot. She had crossed over four pounds, and she was breathing on her own without oxygen assistance, and her vitals hadn’t dropped in four days. Which meant she could be held. “I’m gonna…I mean what if I…”

“You’re gonna do just fine, dad,” the nurse said.

The word hit him square in the centre of his chest, but he breathed through it, and let the nurse ease the baby from her cot, into his arms. She was still so small, smaller than anything Eric had ever seen before. He had worn a button up shirt as requested, and it was open now, the baby lying against his chest, her cheek pressed to the thrumming of his heart.

She was warm. She was freakishly warm, and a strange mix of light and heavy, and Eric had no idea what to do with his hands, or how tight to grip. But he leant back, the chair slightly reclined, and she squirmed, then settled. Her eyes, still round, framed by a smattering of strawberry blonde lashes and brows, eventually closed. Her little fist curled in on itself, next to her mouth, and she sucked on it.

She was his. This was his baby.

The paperwork was being processed, and he’d see a judge, and her name would adorn a new birth certificate with his on there. The mother wasn’t fighting it.

It was just Eric.

Eric and Eloise Isabel Bittle.

He was torn between wanting to vomit, and wanting to cry, and wanting to laugh until he couldn’t breathe. Instead he held her and stroked the fussy patch of baby-fine hair at the nape of her neck, and asked the nurse to take some photos for his family.

He wasn’t allowed to use social media yet, but he could send the photos off to his mum, who was planning her ticket for the day Eric had court, and he could send the photos to the Falcs group chat. Kent insisted that her first outfit be the Parson Jersey, though with how small she was, it would be months, probably, before she could fit.

Still, he figured he’d give it a go, the moment she was detached from all her tubes and her IVs and had a date of release.

“We’re going to start her on a bottle soon,” the nurse said. “You want to be here for that? Her first feeding?”

Eric swallowed. “I should…probably. Yeah. Uh.”

Eloise started to cry, so the nurse helped Eric up, and walked him through a change. Her nappies were the smallest he’d ever seen—like a child might put on a doll, but she swam in them. Her hips were tiny, and her stomach was round, soft, and very red. The process was terrifying to say the least, but he got it done, without dissolving into panic, and then she was put back in the cot where she settled, the dummy pushed into her mouth.

“Is this what it’ll be like at home?” he wondered.

“It’ll be worse, and about a hundred times more terrifying,” the nurse said, putting her hand on his shoulder. “But then it gets about a thousand times better. You said your mom’s coming to stay a while?”

Eric shrugged. He didn’t know how long. He didn’t know much, really, except that he’d made this snap decision and he was missing his lectures for the rest of probably forever, and he’d need to get a better job, and he’d need to read about a billion parenting books so he did right by this kid.

But he wasn’t regretting his choice, either.

“I have help,” he said.

He sank into the chair, texted his momma a photo, then put one in the group chat. Twenty minutes later…

Parse: holy shit I’m dead. I can’t…oh my god. She’s the cutest baby I’ve ever seen.  
Marty: Smallest at least.  
Tater: When we are come see her, B?  
Jack: Do you need anything?  
Parse: shopping. We have to get her everything.

Eric stared at the screen, and laughed quietly to himself. “Your new family is…a little out there, sweetpea,” he muttered to her, touching the clear plastic on the side of the cot. “But they love you a whole bunch. And they haven’t even met you.” 

Bitty: Don’t worry about it, guys. I’m sure I’ll get it all covered. She’ll be heading home in a couple weeks. Once she grows up a little bit more.

Eric wasn’t sure what to expect, but it certainly wasn’t delivery after delivery of everything one might ever need from a baby. When Marty and Thirdy’s wives showed up with boxes of hand-me-downs, he definitely didn’t cry. And definitely did bake them all several pies each.

“Anything you need,” Gabby said, holding him by the shoulders. “You’re not alone.”

Eric didn’t know how to process any of that. He was terrified, because once upon a time he hadn’t felt alone. Then the worst happened, and Eric had been forced to confront mortality at its worst. He’d been forced to confront and accept the idea that you can lose something so precious to you, so perfect, and never get it back.

The idea that might happen with Eloise, or anyone he knew now, sent him into a spiral.

But loving them was enough now, for him to hold tight, and not want to let go.

*** 

Suzanne and Eric Sr arrived two days before court. They were allowed to see and hold Eloise for thirty minutes.

On the fourteenth of October, Eric R Bittle Jr stepped into court with his lawyer, sat through a long process of information and paper signing and giving statements. At the end, he walked out with a court order awarding him sole custody and a new birth certificate for Eloise Isabel Bittle.

He and Shitty found a quiet corner where he could cry.

Then Eric and his parents made their way to the hospital, and the paperwork was filed, and Eloise was his.

She was released sixteen days later, with a breathing monitor, and several certificates of her firsts—first jabs, first day off oxygen, first day with no IV…on and on, showing her accomplishments of existing. Eric saved them in a small folder, and resisted the urge to draw one in crayon after her first night alone with her dad.

*** 

It was hell.

Eric didn’t think it was going to be easy, but he hadn’t realised it was going to be this hard. His own ignorance, he supposed. Eloise rarely slept—on hospital time instead of a proper sleep schedule. All the books said it would take time for her to adjust, and meanwhile Eric cried himself to sleep in the scarce few hours he was allowed to have.

He missed every group text, and every phone call.

He was a walking zombie, and snapped at his parents enough that his dad decided it was time for him to go back. Suzanne stayed though, promising that until Eric felt stable enough, she’d be at his side.

He hated her for it. And he loved her for it.

And finally a month and a half later, Eloise slept through the night.

*** 

“So the boys want to have a little welcome party for our little muffin,” Shitty said. Eloise was sleeping on his shoulder, her fist curled round his hand. She’d been given the okay from her GP to be around some of the general public. He’d put her in a sling and taken her to the super market as his first real outing since she’d been home, and it felt almost like a cruise.

Shitty had come over for dinner later that evening when Suzanne had gone out for drinks with a couple friends, and the pair of them were on the sofa, Eric half awake as he watched Shitty with the small baby.

“It won’t get out of hand. But they’ve been desperate.”

Eric bit his lower lip, then nodded. “Yeah. Just the boys. No kids just yet. Doctor’s orders.”

“Boys wanna come by after their game against the Rangers. And I think Kent’ll fly in since they’re on bye week now.”

Eric shrugged, but he couldn’t help a small grin. Kent had been patient with his silence, and gushed over every photo Eric did remember to send. He’d taken to calling himself Eloise’s favourite uncle already, and Eric couldn’t find it in him to contradict the other man.

“So long as I don’t have to do anything…”

Shitty laughed. “Lards and I will handle local shit, yeah? Boys’ll bring food. Both’a you can just show up and look pretty.”

“Well,” Eric said, brushing his fingers through Eloise’s hair which had started to grow, and curl a little bit. “One of us will look pretty. The other will look like a bridge troll who hasn’t had a proper bath in a month.”

“Bits,” Shitty said with a tiny sigh. “If you need us…”

“I know. I just…I got my momma and I…” He sighed. “I need to know I can do this on my own.”

Shitty nodded. “I get it. But fact remains. We’re here.” Eloise chose that moment to squirm, and cry a little. He reached for her bottle, easing it into her mouth. He snuggled her close, and she drank furiously. Eric felt something unknot in his chest.

They were his friends. They were here because they wanted to be.

Because they chose to be.

*** 

The party was nice, but it came on the heels of Eric going through his finances and feeling like he was drowning. He’d fallen out of University, his loans were drying up, and his job didn’t have more hours for him. Eloise’s expenses weren’t unmanageable, but with a Providence rent and a part time job, he wasn’t what was going to happen.

He tried to perk up when everyone arrived—big hockey players cooing over a tiny infant was almost too much to handle for anyone, including Eric. He pushed his stress and frustration aside long enough to take photos of Kent holding Eloise, swimming in her Aces jersey, and a few photos showing she still fit into the palm of Alexei’s hand. He had a drink, and ate a little of the food. He gave Eloise her bottle when she cried, and changed her when she was wet.

It was almost second nature now, and he was relaxed with his friends around. Suzanne got along with everyone famously, even Jack who rarely said much beyond staring quietly at Eric, and shyly shaking his head when Shitty offered him the baby.

Eric didn’t think Jack liked him too much—hard to blame him, really. Jack had a long history with anxiety and Eric couldn’t imagine what a situation as complicated as his own would do to Jack’s head, and his routine. As cute as he was—and Eric couldn’t deny a small crush forming—he took it upon himself to stay away.

A few hours in, Eloise started to fuss, and Suzanne offered to put her to bed. “Oh let me, Dicky,” she insisted. “You go mingle with your friends. You deserve a night off.”

He wanted to argue, to say he hadn’t done a whole heck of a lot to earn a night off—not pulling in the money he needed, and no real job prospects. It weighed on him a little too heavy, and when Suzanne disappeared into the bedroom, Eric took his drink and slipped outside to the terrace.

His own was small, compared to a lot in the area. It barely fit two chairs, plastic and falling apart with sun damage. The railing was safe and secure, though, and he leant against it, his head tipped down toward the street, watching people pass by. He didn’t hear the door open, but he heard it shut, and he jumped with the click. 

His head whipped to the side, and his heart thudded nearly in his throat when he realised it was Jack, looking shy still, holding two glasses. When his eyes fell on Eric’s hands, he flushed harder. “Oh uh. I wasn’t sure you had a…” He wriggled his glass.

Eric laughed and shrugged, setting his own down and taking the one from Jack. “Thanks. I could use it.”

Jack hesitated, then stepped up to the railing. For the weeks Eric had known everyone, he knew Jack least. He knew his favourite pie, of course, and a few of his hockey superstitions. He knew a little bit about Jack’s career and life when he had time to look them all up.

Jack, who was an openly bisexual player, openly mentally ill. He nearly didn’t make the NHL after an overdose—choosing University as a stepping stone and a way to recover, and he’d done everything in his power after getting signed to the Falconers to ensure proper care and support for players.

He had the support of his team, of course, and the Aces who were the first NHL team to challenge outdated rules, and signed Kent Parson as their first transgender player. It was a risk, and Kent worked harder than anyone to earn his place in the league.

Eric realised sometime after meeting them all, that of all the professional athletes he might actually have met, these might have been the best for him. They accepted him for who he was, exactly as he was.

Even if Jack seemed a little like Eric was too much.

Only…he was still here. He was still stood against the railing with Eric, looking at him with a quiet expression of concern.

“Is everything alright?”

Eric shrugged. “I mean, apart from the total, hellish tornado that is my life?” he offered wryly. When Jack’s brow dipped into a frown, he sighed. “Sorry, hun. I’m…fine. It’s just a lot. I never thought…I never thought this was going to be my life. Even after Benny died…”

“That was your…boyfriend?” he asked.

Eric swallowed thickly, but he realise the sting of it was less. It was a strange moment, profound in a way. Someone months back had told him he would feel better with time. Then, when the guy had said it, Eric had wanted to punch the guy in the face, then gut him and pull his insides halfway out and say, “It’ll feel better with time.” Because that’s exactly how he felt.

And now…knowing that guy was right in some ways…

He sighed and took a sip of the wine Jack had brought. “He was my boyfriend, yeah. He had a chronic condition. We knew…we knew he wasn’t going to live as long as most people. But um.” Eric licked his lips. “I loved him a whole lot, and I don’t think no matter what you know, you can prepare for it.”

“What happened?” Jack asked quietly, then stopped himself. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t…”

“No it’s…fine,” Eric said, and shrugged. “It’s better than it was before. I haven’t talked about it much. He uh. Well he was fine, and then he was sick. It happened a lot so neither of us thought much about it. But the infection had spread to his heart real quick, and um. Well. His heart just couldn’t recover. I was at school. I got a call but I didn’t think it was too serious. I drove to the hospital and I picked up the phone to the ICU and the nurse just um.” Eric cleared his throat, his voice thick with unshed tears. “Well he’d gone already. About thirty minutes before I got there. They had already taken him away.”

“I’m sorry,” Jack said very quietly.

Eric nodded. That’s what everyone said. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for your loss, I’m sorry for your pain. My condolences. And it wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate the words. He did, he believed they were genuine, but they were a painful reminder that no matter how many well wishes and I’m sorrys, the hurt was never going to stop. None of them would bring Benny back, none of them would make it all stop.

Sometimes he wished people would just say, “That fucking sucks.”

Because ultimately, that was the most honest truth.

But he knew the world had been conditioned better than that. More polite.

“He’d probably think this was all real funny,” Eric said when he’d composed himself.

Jack lifted a brow. “This?”

“Y’all here, in my apartment. Me havin’ a kid. Literally havin’ a kid dropped in my lap. I’d never been with a woman before that night. And I know they always teach you in those terrible sex-ed classes it just takes once but I never realised how darn true that was.”

Jack chuckled. “I’ve never had a scare, but my ex girlfriend did, right after we broke up. I remember being with her while we waited for the test. It was…uncomfortable.”

Eric laughed. “You’re a real nice guy, takin’ your ex out for something like that.”

“She was a good person, she didn’t deserve to be alone,” Jack said, as simply as he said anything. As though it was nothing more than the brutal truth, and Eric really liked that about him. “I’m sorry this is so much for you. If the boys are being…”

“No,” Eric said quickly. “No I…having y’all around like this is…it makes it easier to handle. I was just so unprepared. I don’t have a job good enough. I can’t afford this place much longer and my only other real option is headin’ back to Georgia to be with my parents and I…” He hadn’t cried before when talking about Ben, but the thought of going back there, of crawling back into the closet to hide, of raising his daughter in a place where she felt the same way he had growing up…

“What can we do?” Jack asked.

Eric blinked at him, then smiled and reached out, giving his arm a pat. “I’ll figure it out. I will.”

“Bittle,” Jack said, a little helplessly.

Eric was startled that Jack cared, startled at how _much_ he cared. He took a breath. “If I think of anything I promise I’ll let you know.”

Jack nodded, sagely and firmly. Then he put his hand at the small of Eric’s back. “I promised Kent I’d get you inside. He’s making outrageous claims of being your new best friend.”

Eric lifted a brow at the chirp, then grinned. “I guess we’ll have to set him straight then.”

“Nothing we ever do will ever make Kent anywhere near straight,” Jack said as he opened the door.

“That’s goddamn right!” Kent crowed from inside, and Eric laughed.

He had no solutions, but he had this. He had Kent tugging him to the sofa to show him photos of Kit, and other baby things he’d found on amazon. He had Marty and Thirdy offering babysitting services, and Jack close enough Eric could still smell his cologne. He had Shitty and Lardo checking on him every few days.

And he had a beautiful, if not exhausting baby, who was incredibly loved.

The rest well…he’d just have to figure it out.

*** 

**Hey B, you come to family skate tonight? We having surprise for you and baby )))**

Eric stared at his phone, then at the pile of boxes in his room. He wasn’t moving. Yet. But he was preparing. His savings were almost up, his mother had helped him cover his bills for the rest of the month just before she’d gone home, but he had no real job prospects, and he wasn’t sure how one would work anyway with Eloise. She was still small, and still needed so much care, and the idea of affording childcare was overwhelming at best.

He’d cried to his mother that night, who put her hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “You and that baby can come home, Dicky. It might be best.”

Eric sniffed. “I know momma but…going home to…to all that. I’m not sure I could face it. And Coach…”

“He’s already half in love with this baby,” Suzanne said, cradling sleeping Eloise in her arm. “And the rest well…you know he loves you.”

“I know,” Eric said, swiping his hand over his face. “But he loves the version of me he wants me to be. Not…not _me_ me.”

Suzanne’s eyes dropped and her shoulders hunched and she took a breath. She knew it. She’d watched how it was when Eric had grown up, under the constant scrutiny and criticism of his father. Under the want and desire for the son he’d envisioned instead of the one he’d got. And she’d done some to protect Eric, but there was only so much she could do.

Her biggest challenge—moving them to Madison and away from the people hurting Eric had been her last hurrah. Coach had put his foot down after that. “That boy’s gotta toughen up,” he’d said.

So Eric joined hockey and spent the rest of his time desperate to find a University as far away as he could manage.

Then he’d found Boston University and it wasn’t everything, but it was something. And he’d made a nice life there until…well until everything. Until Ben.

And now this.

“I’ll think about it,” Eric said. “For now I got the boys.”

“They are nice, aren’t they?” Suzanne mused, toying with a curly lock of Eloise’s hair. She sighed, staring at the baby’s face. She was looking more and more like Eric now that she’d filled out. Round cheeks, upturned nose, and the little dimple in her chin. “Does she…” Suzanne cleared her throat. “Does she look like the mother at all?”

Eric blinked, then laughed. “I know you don’t wanna hear this, but um. Momma, I was so drunk and so sad. I don’t really remember much.”

Suzanne sighed and stroked her finger down the baby’s cheek. Eloise squirmed, then settled. “I don’t blame you. Dicky…I might not understand. I might not…it might not be something I agree with, but I know you loved that boy and I can’t imagine what it would be like to go through that.”

Eric felt his chest burn and he cleared his throat. “I don’t ever want you to, momma. It was the worst thing I ever felt and if I can help it, I’ll never feel that way again.”

Suzanne looked up at him. “Just don’t shut yourself out, baby. Please. Don’t let fear leave you lonely.”

“I got her now,” Eric said, but he knew better than that. “I ain’t never gonna be alone again.”

Suzanne gave him a careful look. “Being alone and being lonely aren’t the same thing, sweetheart. You deserve to be happy too. You deserve to let yourself. It’s not all going to end in tragedy.”

“What if it does, though?” Eric asked, his voice barely above a whisper. His eyes went hot and wet when his mother didn’t have an answer for him.

Now he stared at the text from Tater, with the image of Jack in his mind because the more he existed near the team, the more he couldn’t help that old, familiar swooping feeling in his gut. It wasn’t the same as he’d felt when he met Ben for the first time. It wasn’t young and new and knee-wobbling. How he felt about Jack was warm and soft and careful, much like Jack himself. It had hidden sparks, the way Jack’s personality had to be learnt and uncovered—but when you did, you learnt he was bright and clever and funny.

But Eric didn’t know what any of it meant. Because Jack tended to avoid him, and Eloise. He seemed to care, but Eric didn’t know how far that caring went. Jack had been hurt, too. Eric didn’t know the full details about what happened between him and Kent. He knew it was better now—now that Kent had his diagnosis and therapy and Tater. He knew that it was better after Samwell and the NCAA and the Falcs.

But he couldn’t be sure Jack was willing to take the risk on relationships, and Eric knew he didn’t have it in him to do anything casual ever again.

Still, he found himself unable to say no. Even if it was the last time he got to see the boys again. Even if he came home and packed everything up right after the skate, he owed himself and he owed the men who had stood by him—a total stranger with a baby—and made him feel safe and welcome.

_I’ll be there. See y’all soon!_

He got a string of eyeless happy emojis, and some chirps in the group chat, mostly from the Falcs…

Marty: She had better be in the Falcs Jersey.  
Jack: It’s mine. She can take my place as captain. :)  
Tater: Zimmboni use emoji, you know is serious.  
Parse: Betrayal. She looks better in black.  
Bitty: Y’all are ridiculous. They still don’t even fit her!

In the end, he dressed her in black leggings and the Zimmermann jersey. He stared at the back of it as he held her up to the mirror and felt something twisting. It was a moment, like every other hockey player’s baby wearing their papa’s jerseys.

Only Jack wasn’t Eloise’s dad. He wasn’t Eloise’s anything, really. And yet he’d bought it. He’d requested it.

He’d sent a smiley face.

That had to mean something.

Eric put Eloise in her seat, waiting for the uber to show up, and he took out his phone. He pushed the button to light up the lock screen, and he stared at the photo of him and Ben. It was an early one they’d taken. Ben’s cheek squashed against Eric’s. He looked healthier then, the only indication he was ill at all the oxygen which sat crooked under his nose, one prong poking out. But his eyes were bright and in love, and so were Eric’s.

He breathed out shaking, but strong. “What do I do, sweetheart? I wish you were here so bad. I miss you. I hate this so much. I hate…I fucking hate…” He was going to cry, so he stopped himself and tucked the phone away. He got up and pressed a kiss to Eloise’s head. She grinned at him, wide and toothless. “He’d love you so much, baby-girl. You’d be the light of his life.”

Eric finished getting ready, digging out his old figure skates, and was all ready to go by the time the car arrived.

*** 

It had been a long time since Bitty was on the ice. When he first moved to Boston, he was able to find ice time, whether it was recreational or bribing the coaches to let him have a half hour after games or practises. But as the years went on and his coursework got harder, and he got more distracted, he let it fall by the wayside.

Stepping on there now, with his baby in tow, was a little terrifying. He had Eloise in a sling, tucked safely to his chest as he stayed near the wall, fully prepared to fling himself backward if he started to lose balance. But it was like…well, it was like riding a bike, or breathing, really. The ice under his feet felt natural, and comforting, and home.

He could picture himself spinning and jumping, racing round the rink at top speed. He could even feel the weight of a hockey stick in his hands under gloves, racing after the puck, spinning to avoid collisions. He could still remember his first goal with complete clarity, or how it felt when his team awarded him captain in his junior year.

Before he could get lost, he was bombarded by massive players introducing wives and girlfriends and children. Marty’s youngest son was clinging to his hand, barely four years old with wide, blue eyes. He was tugging on his papa’s sleeve and asking to see the baby, so Eric passed her over, trusting they wouldn’t let any harm come to her.

Across the rink Eric caught a glimpse of Kent trying to pull Tater by the hand, but eventually he gave up and skated over, spraying Eric’s legs with ice. “Where’s my baby? Kent demanded.

Eric rolled his eyes. “I thought you were excited to see me, your very best friend.”

“You come in third,” Kent said with a wave of his hand. He ticked off his fingers, “Kit and Eloise tied for first, then Alexei, then you. Sorry, man.”

“I feel betrayed,” Eric said dryly, but he couldn’t help a smile when Kent stole Eloise off Marty, cooing and nuzzling her cheek with the tip of his nose.

“Strange to see him like this,” said a voice in Eric’s ear.

Eric spun, almost losing his balance until large hands caught him round the waist. He flushed hard, furiously, and cleared his throat as he righted himself. He tried not to get lost in Jack’s eyes, or the way he looked so…unbelievably attractive. He was wearing a black jumper, jeans, a toque pulled over his hair, and the smallest grin.

“I wasn’t sure you’d make it.”

Eric shrugged. “Tater wouldn’t have let me live it down if I missed Eloise’s first family skate.”

The pair of them glanced over to see Kent showing her off to a couple of the teenagers who were snapping photos like it was their job. Eric laughed, and Jack shook his head saying, “I guess she’s a hit.”

“Teenagers love small, cute things. It’ll wear off when she’s a drooly, annoying toddler.” He didn’t mention that he wouldn’t be around for any of that, most likely. His voice dried up when Jack’s hand fell to the small of his back.

“Marty and I wanted to talk to you for a minute,” he said, dropping his voice low.

Eric felt his cheeks get hotter, but he nodded and let Jack direct him to where Marty had skated off. Near the players’ bench, a few of the guys had gathered, and for some reason Eric felt like he was about to get an intervention or something. His knees wobbled, and he managed to catch the wall before he fell.

“So uh,” the dark-haired goalie, Dominic Neige, started first. “So we were talking and um…”

Tater, who had skated up a second before Eric and Jack got there, elbowed Snowy in the side. “I’m having friend, from Russia. He has shop, you know. Which sell books, sell coffee and pastry. But he’s wanting to live in Russia again. Missing family, missing everything.”

Eric frowned, nodding. “Okay?”

“He’s closing shop, but then I’m having idea. I’m buy shop.”

Eric lifted a brow, not sure what the hell this had to do with him. “Congrats, Tater. I bet that’ll be a good investment.”

“My accountant telling me is good area, with lot of traffic. Is sad to see shop go, is very popular. But Sergei, he is doing most of the work, you know? So no manager, no staff.”

Marty cleared his throat. “It’s a decent salary. Alexei and I went over the books with his accountant. The management salary starts at sixty-three a year, and depending on how the year looks, they can probably swing another five if business stays steady.”

Eric blinked, and it was all clicking into place. His ears began to ring, a feeling of panic, in a way, confusing and overwhelming. He gripped the edge of the rink so hard his knuckles ached. “Are you…”

“We know this year has been tough,” Jack said. “You don’t have to say yes, but if you don’t want to leave…”

Eric let out a wet laugh. “I don’t know anything about runnin’ a shop. I have a degree in American studies!”

Tater waved that away. “You make good pie, good cookies. All good things. You learn the rest, yeah? I’m bring someone in, they can help. You good boss, B. I’m know this. You can bring in Ellie, she help bring in customers. So cute they are wanting to buy everything!”

Eric was laughing again, unable to stop it. A bubble of feeling swirling round in his gut was making him shake, making him near hysterical.

“Say yes,” Marty said. “Guy’s kiddo just graduated high school and she’s having a gap year before college. She can babysit. Whenever. You’ll get a staff. We…want you to stay.”

Eric nodded, biting the inside of his cheek to try and keep from crying. “Yeah I…sure. Okay. I’ll stay. Yeah.”

The hand was back on him again. Jack’s hand, warm and grounding. Eric let out a shaking breath and turned his head to see Jack’s sleepy blues watching him with…well, a look he wasn’t sure he could read. A tiny voice told him, _he wants you_ but he wasn’t ready to believe it yet.

“I’m glad, Bittle,” Jack said.

Eric sniffed and nodded, then chuckled when Kent skated up with Eloise’s back against his chest, holding her in a tight grip. “So he said yes?” Kent demanded.

Tater pulled Kent close and kissed his cheek. “He saying yes.”

“Thank fuck,” Kent said, and kissed Eloise on the top of the head. “Hear that, princess? You’re not going anywhere.”

Eric had no idea how this all happened, or why these people would ever give a shit, but they did. They were here. 

And he was staying.

*** 

Eric, who had managed to doze off on the sofa, woke to a persistent knocking on his door. He glanced over at the swing where Eloise was still soundly asleep, and he stumbled up, fumbling for the lock. When he pulled it open, his eyes widened in surprise to see Jack stood there, looking a little uncertain.

“Is…this a bad time?”

Eric cleared the sleep from his throat, though he still sounded groggy. “No I uh…Eloise went down finally so I was just um…”

Jack’s face fell. “Oh no. I should have…I’m sorry. I know sleep is important.”

Eric laughed, waving his apology away. “It’s fine, really. You wanna come in? I mean, we have to be quiet—if she wakes up and starts screaming I might lose it but…”

Jack shucked off his trainers and padded in socks over to the sofa. He took the seat nearest to Eloise, and pitched his voice low and soft. “I just wanted to make sure you were alright,” he said. “The family skate was a lot. We sort of just dropped that on you.”

Eric stared down at his hands, letting out a short breath. “It…it was a lot. But I appreciated it all, Jack. Really.”

Jack twisted his fingers together, but Eric didn’t miss the fact that they had a small tremble. “I just don’t want you to feel obligated to stay, if you need to go. Don’t feel like you have to take this. Tater wanted to help, and Kent doesn’t want to lose you. No one does.”

Eric swallowed, then tried for a smile. “Jack. I don’t want to leave. I love it here. I mean, it’s hard sometimes. I’m still so darn sad and I feel really alone, but this is the best I’ve felt since Benny died, and I can’t lose that. I…I’m not healed up yet, and having to go back to Madison and live with my parents…” Eric stopped and cleared his throat. “My parents love me, but they don’t get me. And I don’t want Eloise to grow up seeing me hide who I am to make other people happy. She’ll have to learn enough that being who I am means I’m not always going to be safe or accepted. But living down there…” He trailed off, shaking his head.

“Okay,” Jack said, and Eric felt some measure of relief when he realised Jack wasn’t going to carry on. He was accepting Eric at his word. “Then I’m glad you’re staying.”

“Yeah?” Eric asked.

Before Jack could reply, Eloise stirred, letting out a small, pitiful cry. Eric shifted to get up, but Jack held his hand out, pushing Eric back to the cushions. “Can I?”

Eric’s eyes widened in surprise. “You don’t have to, really. She’s been sleepin’ a lot better and I’m okay.”

“I’d like to,” Jack said.

The sincerity in his voice sent Eric leaning back against the cushions, and he shrugged. “Alright.”

He watched as Jack carefully lifted Eloise up, cradling her in his arm. It was well practised, familiar, which confused Eric as Jack had avoided the baby so much. But he didn’t say anything as Jack took her back to the bedroom to give her a change.

They came back a few minutes later, Jack singing something very soft, and definitely not in English. He grabbed for her bottle, and settled himself next to Eric as she drank furiously from it.

“My mother used to sing that to me,” Jack said after a minute.

Eric’s eyebrows went up. “You um. You’re good with her. I didn’t…I wasn’t sure you liked kids.”

Jack laughed quietly. “I do. I mean…I coached for a while, and a lot of the guys on the team have kids.”

“You just um. Avoid her?” Eric said, trying to keep any sort of accusation from her tone.

Jack let out a tiny sigh and shrugged one shoulder. “I have a bad history, with rumours about my overdose. Most people who know me know the truth, but a lot of people think it was cocaine or heroin or…something. And I…I get nervous sometimes, that people think euh…that I’m using, and then holding babies, and I never…well if someone says something, and then someone makes a report…”

“Oh Jack,” Eric breathed, and shifted a little closer. “I know that’s not true. And I trust her with you.”

Jack nodded. “I…I know, Bits,” he said, and held Ellie just a little closer. “But the last thing you need is some person knocking on your door asking me about my drug problem, and why you’d let some junkie handle your baby and…”

“And if they did, you better believe I’d set them straighter’n’a preacher’s pulpit.”

Jack chuckled, then eased the bottle out of Eloise’s mouth, lifting her up to pat her gently on the back. Her chin rested in his huge hand, her head dwarfed by it, and Eric couldn’t help but snap a couple photos.

“You don’t mind, do you?”

Jack smiled, shaking his head. “Of course not.” When she got sleep again, he laid her on his shoulder and sat back. “So you’re really going to stay?”

Eric smiled. “I’m really going to stay.”

Jack’s legs spread a little, his knee knocking into Eric’s. It was a moment small, but profound. Something was shifting—changing. Something was happening, or perhaps it was the birth of something. Either way, for the first time in maybe ever, Eric felt like he was making the right choice. Without question.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I lied, I ended up finishing the second bit now. I thought i was going on a bit longer, but...I didn't.
> 
> Second part begins about three years after part one--and it just tidies up Jack and Bitty's get-together. No real warnings apart from mild grief and issues of mortality.
> 
> Thank you so much for all the lovely comments. They mean the world to me and I'll answer them all as soon as I can. x

At the sound of the tinkling bell, a pair of small feet tapped across the floor in a rhythmic pattern of toddler running. There’s a slight giggle, and an oomph. Bitty glanced up from where he was rearranging a toppled book display when the small girl called, “Jack!”

With a grin, Bitty straightened, wiping floor gunk on the front of his jeans. His hair, getting a bit long in the front, fell over his forehead, and he pushed it back with impatient fingers. “How was the roadie?”

Jack’s face fell into a slight pout, even as he hitches the three year old onto his hip. “You didn’t watch?”

“Someone caught a fever and was poorly the last two nights,” Bitty said. “So we missed Stars, Sharks, and the Kings.”

“I haff a sniffle,” Eloise declared, her nose wrinkled. “Pea-cos daddy…pea-cos he taked me to skating and it was…um. The ice.”

“Maybe it wasn’t the ice,” Bitty chastised. “Maybe it was me telling you not to lick the handrails and you thought it was a good idea anyway.”

Eloise giggled as Jack pulled a face at her, then he set her down and she went rushing back to her lego as Jack smiled at Bitty.

“Two of three. We lost to the Sharks in OT,” Jack said, easing himself down into one of the café chairs just on the edge of the separation between the café bit and the bookshop bit.

“I saw the score, caught a couple highlights. Nice job on the hatty,” Bitty said, dropping his hand to Jack’s shoulder briefly. “Do you want something to drink?”

Jack shrugged. “Tea.”

“Sweet iced or the gross bitter you like so much?”

Jack laughed and didn’t answer because he knew Bitty was going to bring him iced sweet tea no matter what he said. He took a long drink out of the plastic cup when it was handed over. “Kenny’ll be here this weekend,” he said. “He’s still got another two weeks off, but the doctor gave him clearance to walk a little on the ankle. He and Tate were thinking about taking Ellie to the zoo.”

Bitty sank into the chair, peering at the door which was still closed. He could hear Ellie’s pretend play with her Star Wars lego set up, and he was grateful that like clock work, from one-fifteen pm to two-thirty, was almost always dead this time of year. “He said on twitter. I told him that was fine. Actually I erm…” Bitty stopped himself.

He and Jack had been doing a strange sort of delicate dance over the last three years. With flirting and spending so much time in each other’s company, Jack had become like a second father to Eloise. They had keys to each other’s places, and Ellie started spending so many nights there on the off season and free weekends, Jack had given in and made up a little bedroom for her.

They were inseparable, but Jack always hesitated when taking anything further out of nerves, and Bitty still couldn’t seem to get over his fear of dating, and falling in love again only to lose them. It had all come to a head a few weeks before the roadie. Shitty and Lardo had taken Ellie for the evening, and Jack had dragged Bitty out for a drink.

When Bitty rejected someone asking for his number for the third time, Jack had taken him by the elbow and said, “You deserve to have someone who makes you happy, Bits. At least try to give it a shot.”

Bitty felt both cold and hot with warmth and rejection. Because he wanted to give it a shot—he did. But he was terrified to make the first move and every time he thought maybe Jack was interested, something would happen. And now…

Now Jack was urging him to date other people.

Bitty had continued to reject people that night, and the night after. But then Jack had gone on the roadie and Ellie had gotten sick, and the nurse in the ER had been cute. Cute enough that when he stammered through a half-speech asking if Bitty ever had free time, Bitty had taken pity on the guy and given his number over.

They’d texted, and now Bitty had a date of sorts. 

Kent and Alexei were taking Ellie out, and Bitty was going for his first date in nearly four years.

He felt sick with nerves, and strangely like he’d betrayed Jack in some way. His mouth felt dry and he cleared his throat. “Um. I have…” He breathed. “I have a date?”

There was a moment of silence, and Jack’s expressionless stare before he smiled and said, “That’s great. You deserve it.”

Bitty let out a trembling laugh. “I guess? It was weird like…he’s a nurse at Boston General and he seemed kind of terrified to even ask. And uh. I mean he’s not really even my type.” He stopped himself there, because he was suddenly terrified of Jack asking what his type was.

If Bitty wanted to be completely honest he’d say, tall, chubby, black hair, blue eyes, plays hockey, tells terrible dad jokes, and has a French-Canadian accent.

And then everything would be ruined.

“I think it’ll go alright,” he quickly finished. “He was nice enough.”

Jack’s smile was strained, but friendly, and he gave Bitty’s knee a pat. “Do you need someone to watch Ellie?” And then his eyes widened. “Ah. That’s what Kenny’s for, isn’t it?”

Bitty laughed. “He offered. He’s all excited about having done the Body Issue even with his ankle brace on, and he said he wants to celebrate by spoiling everyone he loves. I reckon he’s got obnoxious gifts for everyone. Ellie will probably come home with half the zoo gift shop.”

Jack sighed, but he was smiling. “Probably. You can tell me about it later, eh?”

Bitty laughed, then his cheeks pinked and he said, “You want to be my emergency phone call?”

Jack frowned. “Your…what?”

“You know. Like if the date goes to shit, or if he’s like…a serial killer or something? I can text you my code word and you make up an emergency?”

Jack laughed. “Sure, Bits. But I doubt you’ll need me.”

Bitty wasn’t so sure. He didn’t know this guy, and he was so damn reluctant to let anyone in his life. Not just because of Jack, and not even really because of Benny, even though he was approaching the anniversary of Benny’s death and feeling a little low over it. It was mostly just that Bitty knew what he wanted, but he didn’t think he’d ever get to have it, and it made dating someone else feel like he was settling.

And that wasn’t fair.

But he knew there was no way he’d be able to get over his feelings for Jack if he didn’t try, and this pseudo-relationship they had going on blurred too many lines between them. So it was what it was, and the guy barely knew Bitty anyway. If it went south, he doubted the guy would be too hurt.

He jumped a little when Jack rose. “I should get going. But I…wanted to stop in and say hello.” Jack hesitated. “Will you have time for coffee this week?”

Bitty, who’d been afraid that this date would put an end to his routine with Jack, relaxed. “Yeah of course.”

“You can tell me all about how the date went,” Jack said, and Bitty told himself Jack didn’t sound sad. That he was just projecting his wants onto this man who liked him, but had never, and would never _like_ him.

Ellie came in to give Jack a kiss goodbye, and made him promise to see her soon. Then he was gone, and Bitty went back to minding the shop, and pretending like he wasn’t wishing his upcoming date was with his favourite hockey player, and one of his best friends.

*** 

It turned out Bitty didn’t need to wait for coffee to tell Jack about the date. He showed up on Jack’s doorstep at nearly midnight, his shoes in his hand, scowl on his face, and coat torn. Jack took one look at him and let him inside, grimacing as Bitty stepped past him.

“What’s that…”

“Smell?” Bitty asked, his voice dripping with irritation. “That would be the contents of my date’s stomach. Mostly booze, and some fried mushrooms from the bar. On my shoes.”

Jack’s eyes cut to Bitty’s shoes—his nicest pair, and now completely ruined. He fetched a grocery bag, and put them inside, then went to his bedroom and came out with an old t-shirt and a pair of sweats too big for Bitty, but were the closest he had.

Bitty stripped right there in the middle of the floor, wavering with stress and exhaustion, and not really caring much about propriety. “I called Kent, but they’d already gone to sleep, and luckily I was right around the corner from yours. I hope…is this okay? Hell Jack, it’s nearly midnight. I should have just taken an Uber or something. I’m sorry I…”

“Bittle,” Jack said, his voice a little sleepy but firm, “I’m glad you came by.” He took Bitty by the arm and guided him to the sofa where he pulled down Bitty’s favourite afghan and wrapped it over their legs. Bitty tucked his toes under Jack’s thighs as he settled in, his cheek resting against the overstuffed cushion. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not much to talk about. The guy likes rugby,” he said, and Jack pulled a face, making Bitty laugh. “Yeah. He doesn’t like or understand hockey. He laughed at me when I told him who all my friends were, like I was joking. He also mentioned he wasn’t really in to kids—his exact words,” Bitty added when Jack’s mouth dropped open. “Then he started ordering shots, tore my coat when I tried to walk to the bathroom, tried to kiss me after I told him no, and when I shoved him backward, he puked on my shoes.”

Jack stared, and then started laughing. Like the bastard he was. When Bitty squawked with irritation and tried to get up, Jack pulled him down and into a cuddle. It wasn’t their first. It was far from it. Bitty was very handsy with his hockey family at all times. But it felt…different, in a way. Definitely more comforting as Jack eased Bitty’s head against his chest and wrapped one arm round him.

Bitty ignored the ache and want in his gut as he sighed and said, “Are they all going to be like that? Dates?”

Jack shook his head. “No, Bits. They’re not. You’ll eventually find someone who loves everything you do.”

Bitty scrubbed a hand down his face. “What if I don’t. I mean…I know I’m not a catch. I’ve got this kid and my life is kind of a disaster. I never finished college, I’m always working, I hate going out. Who the hell wants that?”

Jack grabbed Bitty by the chin and turned his face up. “Anyone who doesn’t think you’re perfect doesn’t deserve you, Bittle. Believe me. Now you’re staying here, okay? Let’s go to bed.”

It also wasn’t the first time Bitty had crashed in Jack’s bed, but this was far more painful. Because a shit date and getting a taste of what he wanted more than anything—and couldn’t have—felt awful. But he supposed he was a glutton for punishment, because he was not about to tell Jack no. He let Jack manhandle him under the covers, and into a cuddle, and eventually he drifted off into sleep.

*** 

Kent’s eyes scanned Bitty’s face, then glanced over to the lake where Jack and Ellie were throwing seeds to the ducks, and he sighed. “You wanna talk about it?”

“What?” Bitty asked, kicking his feet a little as they sat on the park bench.

Kent gave him an unamused look. “This unrequited crush you’ve been carrying for Zimms for what? Three years now.”

Bitty spluttered. “I…I don’t…why would you think…Kent!”

Kent rolled his eyes. “Well it’s either that or the shitty date you had, but my guess is the Jack thing. I mean…”

“God, I’m obvious, aren’t I?”

“Yeah, but he’s King Oblivious so unless you literally strip down and paint, I Want You Jack Zimmermann, across your ass, he’s not going to get it. He doesn’t think you like him that way.”

Bitty blinked. “Um. What?”

Kent snorted. “You two are ridiculous and watching you two orbit each other is both sweet and fucking disgusting. You’re literally my best friend and I know things are shitty, and I know you’re scared of dating but…”

Bitty bit the inside of his cheek, then said, “What if he dies?”

“Kent stared. “What if he dies,” he repeated.

“Like…Benny was basically my first, and only, and I’m scared I’m like…cursed or something, you know? Like what if I have some curse so every time I fall in love, he dies!”

“Okay first,” Kent said, “chill on the witchy-rom-coms. You’re not cursed, Bits. People fucking die and it really sucks, but people also live and fall in love and raise their babies together and…whatever gross couple shit.”

“Like you and Alexei aren’t gross couple shit,” Bitty shot back, trying to deflect Kent’s laser focus on him.

“We are not the subject of this conversation, and I’ll be as gross as I want, thank you. Alexei loves me.”

Bitty rolled his eyes. “Okay…”

“The point is, you’re not cursed. Jack’s meant to live. If he wasn’t, shit would have gone way wrong a long time ago. Because it came pretty fucking close. And I’ll never know what it felt like for you, but there were about twenty minutes that I kinda did and…I’m not telling you that you shouldn’t be afraid. But I am telling you that if you want him, he’s right fucking there. And he will not turn you down.”

“That wasn’t really…” Bitty said, his voice barely above a whisper. He cleared his throat. “I think that was the least of my worries. It’s just…I have him now, and I’m not sure I’d survive that kind of pain again.”

“You would, because you got that fucking great kid, right? Who needs you to live and be happy. So god forbid shit happened again, you’d be alright.”

Bitty swallowed against the lump in his throat and sighed. “Benny died four years ago tomorrow. And…I know it’s time to move on. I’m not…I’m not even hung up on him, you know? But I’ve been afraid for so long and what Jack and I have is great…”

“Is it?” Kent challenged. “Is it great to go on shitty dates and get puked on and then crawl into Jack’s bed and not get kisses afterward? Because frankly that sounds like you’re both getting the short end of the stick.”

Bitty licked his lips and glanced over to where Jack had Ellie on his shoulders now, walking round the lake as she pointed out various ducks and cranes and swans. The love was plain on his face, and the happiness. And Bitty realised everything he ever wanted to give to his daughter was right here.

He just didn’t know how to take the steps.

“If I wanted another night…”

“Literally I will take that kid as long as you need me to,” Kent said. He shifted and wriggled his walking cast. “Since I’m laid up, I’m all yours.”

Bitty nodded, then shifted closer and laid his head on Kent’s shoulder. “Thanks.”

“You’re gonna be alright,” Kent said, reaching over and lacing his fingers through Bitty’s. “You’re the best person I know, Bits. You’re gonna get your happy ever after. I swear to god.”

*** 

Bitty didn’t find the courage to ask Jack out. Instead he found himself stood at Jack’s door with a small bouquet of flowers meant for Ben’s grave, and tear tracks on his face. 

“I could um. Use the company,” Bitty confessed.

Jack looked at the flowers and instantly knew what Bitty was asking for. He grabbed his keys, and a spare hoodie, throwing it at Bitty since the rain had started. “I’ll drive,” was all he said. He took Bitty’s hand, and he didn’t let go until they arrived at the cemetery.

Bitty didn’t go there a lot. Once or twice a year, when he was feeling brave enough to face a name carved on a headstone. It was plain, apart from name, date, and a small star of David at the top. He wondered if Benny’s parents ever bothered to come by, or his brothers, but by the look of things, he didn’t think so.

He’d never brought anyone, either, apart from Ellie when she was a baby. It was symbolic, really. Bitty didn’t believe Benny could see him, so introducing them really had been for Bitty’s benefit only. But then again, he figured every ritual done for the dead was for the benefit of the living, and he’d felt better afterward, and he thought well…that’s what Ben would have wanted.

This felt even stranger now. He wasn’t sure entirely what it meant, but sharing this piece of himself with Jack felt important. Like an actual Moment, and he couldn’t begin to know what Ben might have thought about this. Bitty falling in love—secretly—with another man. And taking him to his dead boyfriend’s grave?

He probably would have laughed himself stupid about it.

That thought cheered Bitty up a little as they navigated through soggy grass and graves far more loved and cared for than Ben’s.

The grass and weeds had grown up a bit around it, but the name was still visible, and a small pot of flowers were in front—though Bitty was pretty sure that was from the caretaker and not from anyone who gave a shit about the dead man inside the ground there.

Jack stayed back a few paces, and Bitty knelt on the ground, oblivious to the wetness soaking into the knees of his jeans. He put the flowers in front, and touched the cold stone. Ben had been cold the last time Bitty had seen him. They’d done an open casket for the mourning period. Bitty didn’t understand the traditions totally, but Ben’s family were strict orthodox Jewish, and it had been difficult enough to get approval for the funeral as it was since he hadn’t been practising in so long, and his relationship with his family had been as strained as Bitty’s was with his own.

But Ben’s mom had been understanding, and had let Bitty have some time with him.

He’d been waxy and cold and not himself. Devoid of all life, and all colour to his cheeks. They’d put make up on him, and had sprayed his hair with something, and it was…wrong. It was worse than a wax figure.

Bitty had skipped the funeral after that, and spent two days in his room trying to scrub that image from his mind. He spent hours staring at old photos and videos and eventually it had faded into the background of Bitty’s stronger memories. Of warm hands and soft kisses. Of Ben singing to him at night in his tone-deaf renditions of showtunes.

Bitty felt a tear drifting down his cheek now, and he swallowed, swiping it away with his thumb. He smiled at Ben’s name, then looked back at Jack who was hesitant, like he wasn’t sure he should come any closer. He did, though, when Bitty waved him over, and they sat together in the soggy grass, knees knocking against each other.

“He would have liked you,” Bitty said. “And you definitely would have liked him.”

Jack nodded, and a bead of rain dripped from his forehead, down his nose. It hung there long enough for Bitty to have the urge to reach out and swipe it away, but he clenched his fists instead.

“You don’t talk about him a lot,” Jack said quietly.

Bitty glanced away. “I know. At first it was hard, and then it was just…it felt weirdly personal. Like you know how people talk about their childhoods, and everyone nods politely but inside they never get it, because it’s something they’ll never experience? It feels hollow, in a way. I know that sounds terrible.”

“It doesn’t sound terrible,” Jack said. He shifted closer, letting his hand rest in the grass, his pinky brushing against Bitty’s. “I understand. But…I never mind hearing stories, if you want to share them.”

Bitty smiled softly. “There’s not a lot to share. Most of our dates were really boring, eating shitty jell-o in hospital rooms. And he had to do this vest treatment, like… like it was this machine he wore which shook his chest really hard, so he’d just quote movie dialogue…like sappy romances or sad ones or whatever and I’d record them.” Bitty laughed a little at the memory. “Sometimes he’d sing, but he was really really bad at it.”

Jack’s smile was soft, and he moved his hand on top of Bitty’s. “That doesn’t sound boring. It sounds…like you.” He sighed. “I have really bad experiences with dating. With Kenny it was…stolen moments, neither one of us sober, both of us terrified about the other boys finding out about us. I mean…it was worse for him. I didn’t realise…he was Kent to me and I didn’t really consider how hard or different it was for him to be who he was. I was wrapped up in my own shit—anxiety and my dad being who he was. It went as badly as any relationship can go, so after I went to Samwell I wasn’t sure how to do it all properly. My girlfriend was pretty patient, but I think I knew from the beginning it wasn’t going to last. I was all hockey all the time, and I didn’t know how to be with her the way she deserved.”

Bitty watched Jack’s face as he spoke, the regret playing in his eyes, but without self-deprecation. “I would have loved to have known you back then.”

“I was an asshole,” Jack said, then smiled, and Bitty giggled. “You would have hated me.”

Bitty sighed, then turned his palm up so their fingers slotted together. “I don’t hate you now. But you might not like me very much if we get colds and you miss a game.”

“I’ll be alright,” Jack said, and squeezed. “You want to go get coffee after this?”

Bitty nodded, then looked at Ben’s grave. There was no profound moment, no voice whispering in his ear telling him it was okay to move on. There was nothing but empty, heavy silence—the same thing there had been since Ben died, and the same thing there always would be. He wasn’t here anymore.

And Bitty knew he wasn’t cursed.

“Can it be a date?” Bitty asked, and he felt Jack stiffen. His cheeks went hot and he said, “I know it’s a little messed up to ask that while sitting on the grave of my dead boyfriend but…”

“I want it to be a date,” Jack said. “I’ve been hoping…but I didn’t think you were…interested.”

“I was,” Bitty said, and let his regret creep into his tone. “I just didn’t know how to be ready.”

“And now?” Jack asked.

Bitty shrugged. “I have no idea.” They both laughed and Bitty let Jack pull him to his feet. “But I’m figuring it out as I go.”

Jack looped an arm round Bitty’s waist and tugged him close. “That’s good enough for me.”

*** 

It had been so, so long since Bitty had done this—touched someone he wanted, someone he had feelings for. The last time he’d done anything like this, he’d been blind-drunk and not even entirely sure who he was with and what he was doing. It had been a moment of confusion and weakness, and only clips of memory of a stranger in the back of a car.

This was more than that. Touching Jack, being allowed to touch, was everything. They’d spent a week on small dates—coffee or lunches, quiet dinners—sometimes with Ellie throwing bits of spaghettios at them, but all the same, wonderful and family.

Bitty’s first kiss happened on a late night, just after getting Eloise to bed. Jack had read her a story, and tucked her in. Bitty had snapped a few photos for twitter of Jack tucking Senor Bun in with the small girl. It had been a long day. Jack had come over from a mid-afternoon game, high on a win, but exhausted.

They’d plans to go out, but Ellie had been a bit crabby, fighting off a cold, so Bitty had cooked, and the three of them had sat round playing snakes and ladders, then watching Moana twice in a row—Bitty crying both times.

Jack had offered to handle the bath as Bitty tidied up the kitchen.

Then was story, and bed.

“I should head out,” Jack said, and when Bitty clung on a little tighter, octopussing his arms round Jack on the sofa, Jack laughed. “I don’t want to go, Bits. Believe me. But I have a six am work-out with Tater and I don’t want to wake either of you.”

Bitty reluctantly released him, and walked him to the door. Just as he was reaching for the door handle, Jack took him by the shoulders, and crowded him back up against the dark wood. His hands went to Bitty’s cheeks, cupping them like Bitty was tender, something precious, to be handled with care.

“I…I’ve been wanting,” Jack said, hesitation in his voice, like nerves creeping up his spine. “I’ve been thinking about kissing you.”

They’d admitted their feelings, but they’d never got beyond hand holding and god… _god_ Bitty wanted.

“I’m…I’d be okay with that,” Bitty managed, and then tipped his head up as Jack’s came down.

Their lips met, in a soft dance, not too deep, not too chaste. A perfect swipe of warm tongue, and then Jack pulled away. “I’ll text you,” he promised.

Bitty surged up for one more, feeling a little desperate and a lot reluctant to let Jack go. “Okay,” he murmured against Jack’s mouth.

Jack gave him three pecking kisses across his lips, then dragged himself away like a stubborn plaster, and let himself out.

Bitty stood there against the door until he could breathe again. By the time he got to bed, there was a text waiting for him.

**This weekend. I want you. Please.**

Bitty had taken no time at all to arrange a sitter. Ellie was safely at the St Martins’ and Bitty was now being crowded back up against that same door. Jack’s mouth was making careful, but thorough work of his neck, lips sucking, though not hard enough to leave any marks.

Bitty groaned, pushing his body against Jack’s unmoving one. His fingers dug into Jack’s sides, the tips of them sinking into his soft flesh right at his waist. “Jack,” he breathed.

“Want you. Bits…please,” Jack begged in a way that maybe he didn’t know Bitty would give him anything, _everything_ he asked for.

They somehow made it back to the bedroom. It was cool and dark, the sheets almost uncomfortable for a moment against the bare skin of Bitty’s back. But soon enough Jack was crouching between his legs, fumbling for his own shirt, chucking it to the side.

Bitty ran his hands along the expanse of Jack’s chest, through the coarse hair there, down his sides. His thighs, thick and heavy, settled on either side of Bitty’s, bracketing him in. His hands fell to the pillows beside Bitty’s face as their hips met in a slow rhythm.

For as much as Bitty had known he wanted this, and as much as they’d both made it very plain during their time after the kiss, neither of them had come very prepared. But hands were enough, fingers, tugging in perfect rhythm until they were spilling—Jack first, and Bitty moments later.

It didn’t take long to get cleaned up, a warm, soapy cloth and a dry towel. And they settled under the covers, Jack holding Bitty close and tight.

“Alright?” he asked.

Bitty nodded, taking a minute to remember how to form words. “More than. I really…” He hesitated, and then he thought, why not. Just go for it. Because if it’s not right now, it won’t be right later. Love didn’t work that way. “I think I’m fallin’ in love with you, Jack.”

Jack laughed into the top of Bitty’s hair, kissing it gently, across his brow, across his forehead, down his temple. “I’m falling in love with you too, Eric. I have been for a long time.”

“Seems a bit silly how long we took to get here,” Bitty said. He turned fully in Jack’s arms, to rest his head against the thumping of Jack’s chest. His hand settled on Jack’s waist, feeling his warmth seeping into his fingertips.

“I think we got here in just the right amount of time,” Jack said. His whole body was soft now, relaxed and easy. Bitty loved it, the feel of him, his belly pressed against Bitty’s—bigger and wider, and so comforting his eyes got a bit hot. “I never want to live another second without you and Ellie in my life.”

Bitty closed his eyes against the wetness there, and he didn’t actually cry—not really. But he was a little overwhelmed with the feelings—not in a bad way, but he couldn’t form words right then. Luckily, Jack didn’t seem to mind. He just closed his eyes, sighed, and held Bitty close.

*** 

“So. Was I right? You two like…getting married or what?”

Ellie, who was resting against Kent’s chest, her thumb in her mouth, popped up. Her bright brown eyes went wide. “Like a pwincess?”

Kent laughed, ruffling her curls. “Yeah, baby. Like a princess. Only it’s gonna be your daddy and Jack.”

She sighed. “Yeah but…okay. Can I haff a dress? An’ some flowers?”

Bitty rolled his eyes. “You know she’s gonna run right to him and claim I said we’re gettin’ married and we only just started dating.”

“If you don’t think that man has been subconsciously planning your wedding since the day you walked into that bar,” Kent said, shaking his head at Bitty. “Anyway, I better be best fucking man.”

“Which one?”

Kent smiled widely. “Both.”

Bitty snorted and then grinned when Jack walked into the room, settling himself next to Kent. Ellie took a moment, then climbed into Jack’s lap and shoved her fingers into his hair, twisting the short hair round her small fingers.

“Kay I could haff a dress, okay? But blue pea-cos it’s like the sky.”

Jack blinked? “You could have a dress, eh?”

“She’s just planning her dress for your wedding to Bits,” Kent informed him.

Bitty blushed, but Jack merely grinned and tucked Ellie in close. “Oh yeah? Should daddy and I wear blue, too?”

Ellie frowned in thought, looked at Jack, then at Bitty. “But daddy should wear lellow,” she said with all the seriousness of a three year old’s world. “Daddy could wear lellow.”

Kent and Jack grinned at him, and Bitty scowled, in spite of his heart racing, in spite of feeling like he’d just discovered the sunrise. “I’m not wearing yellow to my wedding.”

“Whatever you wear,” Jack said, his face bright and happy, hearts in his eyes, “you’ll look amazing.”

Bitty grinned, and realised that maybe this was, after all, his happy ending.

**Author's Note:**

> So right now I have huge writer's block for my sugar daddy fic, so I'm taking a hiatus from it. I'll be updating my BPD Kent fic soon, and my NurseyRans. It's book-writing time so my updates are slow no matter what, and I've been writing a few long fic for the Star Wars fandom as well, so that's taking up some of my free time. I do have two fics coming up for mxlfoydraco which are nearly done (nursey x rans x tater, and nursey x tater x kent) for a ACLU donation reward, and I'll be finishing up (hopefully) my FTH auction Patater fic by the end of March.
> 
> Anyway feel free to come find me on Tumblr (I've changed my url) at [for-you-and-bits](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/for-you-and-bits) if you have any questions. xx


End file.
